


The Bucky Barnes Guide to Not Being a Weapon

by die_traumerei



Series: Sing Home and Be Free [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Big Birthday Bash, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Food, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slice of Life, chubby!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of chapters -- really stand-alone stories -- about Bucky, and how he is a person now, not a weapon. Mostly happy fluff, with probably some angst now and again, because Bucky. But, largely, it's about how he knows he exists in the world as a person, one with agency and friends and independent more-or-less-everything. And, of course, Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Eat for Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Ha ha ha and here I thought I wouldn't have anything else to write in this 'verse. How wrong I was. And conveniently timed, for Bucky's birthday!
> 
> The chapters will update as I get ideas but, really, they're more short stories than anything tightly interrelated.

“Bucky, you gotta try this,” Steve said, holding up a takeout container.

“Steve, I'm pretty sure that's the one thing you've said to me the most since I got back,” Bucky said, but he did bother to sit up and make room for Steve on the sofa. Whatever it was smelled pretty good.

“Oh, shut up. They're gyoza from the new place down the street.”

“Oooh, is it Dumpling Day already?” Bucky cooed, but he opened his mouth and let Steve pop one in. And holy shit, it was _amazing_. Food in general was pretty amazing – Bucky wasn't sure, but he thought he might have gone seventy years without eating really eating solid food – but this was _awesome_.

“No, that's in March, and you know it,” Steve said. For Bucky's birthday last year, they had consulted with all their neighbors and selected trustworthy Avengers (so, Sam), and compiled a list of every different kind of dumpling – filling wrapped in a soft noodle or dough apparently being a pretty common staple, cross-culturally. And then they'd gone out and tried them all.

It had been worth it to have birthday sex demoted to lying on their backs in bed, moaning quietly about over-full bellies and the perfection they had witnessed several times over that day. Besides, they made up for it the next day. Bucky was very inventive in the bedroom.

“Ngh, so good,” he mumbled around the mouthful, and opened his eyes to see Steve grinning at him. “What?”

“Pretty sure that's what _you've_ said the most, since you got back,” he pointed out, using his best innocent Captain America face.

“You fuckin' wish,” Bucky said, but he picked another one up anyway, feeding it to Steve. 

“Umm, good,” was Steve's verdict, and then the asshole leaned in and kissed Bucky softly. “Mmm--”

Bucky slapped a hand over Steve's mouth. “If you say 'better', I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

Steve made a noise of protest against Bucky's hand.

“I mean it, Rogers. I won't have that level of disgusting romance in this household.”

Steve stuck his tongue out, swiping it across the palm of Bucky's hand. Bucky rolled his eyes. “That didn't work when we were  _nine_ .”

“Sorry.” Steve's voice was muffled, and he held out the little container of gyoza again, clearly believing he could bribe Bucky. He was right.

“Hmph. These are really good, though,” Bucky admitted, removing his hand (and wiping it on his jeans because _ew Steve_ ) and popping another into his mouth.

“Not as good as you,” Steve said smoothly, moving the food to safety as he leaned up against Bucky, pushing him to lie back on the sofa. “Not as sweet as my Buck, not nearly as edible as you look.” He started pressing ridiculous loud kisses down Bucky's throat, ignoring Bucky's squawk of protest. “Not nearly as good as you,” he said, and gobbled the top of Bucky's shoulder.

“Oh my God.”

“Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous,” Steve chanted, running his hands up Bucky's shirt, thumbs caressing his stomach. “My man. So fucking hot.” He kissed Bucky's shoulder, his arm, buried his face in Bucky's chest. “So _fucking_ hot like this, home and loved and cared-for.”

“Stevie, Jesus.” Bucky swallowed hard. They weren't like this, not really. “Stop.”

“Won't. Don't tell you enough how much I love you.”

“Y'do...Steve, no, stop. _Stop_.”

Steve, bless him, stilled right away and sat up. “Hey. Hey, I'm sorry, I just meant to tease. Bucky, what's wrong?”

Bucky shook his head, and pulled Steve back down to lie on him, closing his eyes at the familiar weight. “Nothing. Everything's perfect.”

“Buck...”

“It _is_. Not your fault I can't...that I'm afraid. Like all this is a dream. No matter how much I look different, how good everything is, gonna wake up and they'll wipe me again, and I won't-- I won't--”

“ _No_ ,” Steve said, firm and sharp. “You're home, you're safe, Hydra is burned to the ground. You're safe _forever_ , Bucky.” He wormed his arms around Bucky's waist, fingers wiggling against his back. “You don't even look like him anymore – the Winter Soldier. Not really.”

Rounded belly, fat on his thighs and bottom, softness on his arms and legs and back. Muscles still there, all strength and movement and grace, but with the  weight that had never been there before – that  of enough to eat and enough sleep and fading fear.

Bucky released the tension in his shoulders, breathed even and steady, like he'd been taught. “Fuck. I'm sorry, Steve.”

“Shut up. Got nothin' to be sorry for,” Steve said, and kissed Bucky softly. “C'mon, food's getting cold.”

Bucky smiled and let Steve pull him upright, the two of them pressing together, finishing off the little plate of  food . 

 


	2. Have Sex

“Oh my _God_ you cocktease,” Bucky groaned, head thumping against the pillow. 

“This is the thanks I get for body-worship...”

“This is the thanks you get for _not sucking my dick_ ,” Bucky informed him, sitting up on his elbows and glaring down at Steve where he lay between Bucky's legs. “Seriously, Rogers. If I weren't a super-soldier, I'd have died of heart failure by now.”

“Yeah, I can see you're obviously overcome,” Steve said dryly, and leaned over to nuzzle at the crease of Bucky's hip, nipping the soft skin there.

Bucky made a whining noise deep in his throat and fell back again, because Steve  was a fucking  _tease._

“You love being pushed,” Steve growled into Bucky's skin, nipping and soothing with the tip of his tongue.

“Liar. I love coming. I love pleasure. I love your mouth on my cock. Those are distinctly things that I – _fuck Stevie Steve there oh_...” He trailed off in a moan, fingers curling into the sheets as he tried not to buck his hips, Steve's face buried between his legs, that incredible mouth on his balls, the tip of his tongue stroking hard on the soft skin just behind them.

“Please, please, please,” he managed. “Please, Stevie, _please_ want you, do anything you want me to just _ungh_.” He faded into a wordless cry again as Steve finally, _finally_ placed a long, wet kiss on the head of Bucky's cock and he was so hard it hurt, Steve's hands squeezing his thighs, thumbs massaging the thick muscle there and _for fuck's sake_

“Do I need to engrave a fucking invitation?” Bucky yelled to the ceiling, because Steve had just _barely_ pulled the foreskin back, his lips wrapped around the head of Bucky's cock and _no further_.

Steve made a soft humming sort of sound, and Bucky almost passed out. He did not even try to keep from arching his back this time, and wailed when Steve's head moved with his hips, still _teasing._

Bucky keened, reaching down to pet at Steve's hair and then finally, _finally_ , with Bucky practically at Death's _door_ , Steve started to move his head, his tongue, his incredible, perfect mouth, and Bucky's wails of protest changed to moans, barely managing words, then not managing words at all as Steve slowly but surely brought him to the edge, then took him over, nice as you please.

He reached for Steve immediately, kissing him, tasting himself, one hand stroking down the perfect curve of that back and curling around his lover's ass, squeezing just enough to made Steve shift and muffle a moan in Bucky's mouth.

“Your turn, love,” he murmured, in between kisses. He let his hands roam, let Steve rest heavy on him, smiled to feel his cock pressing against Bucky's hip. “What d'you want?”

“Gimme lube,” Steve mumbled. “'n hold your legs together, tight.”

Bucky smiled into Steve's throat, where he had started to suck up a mark. “Oooh.”

“Sh'up and gimme the _lube,”_ Steve whined, and Bucky laughed, a little breathless.

“It's no more than you deserve,” he said, and rolled the over, landing on top of Steve with a little _oof_. “Now, where did I leave it...”

“I hate you,” Steve announced, voice muffled due to his face being squished against Bucky's chest.

“Maybe you'll remember this next time.”

“I will definitely remember being almost smothered by my lover while he tries to remember where he left any of the dozen bottles of lube we own,” Steve announced, as Bucky rolled off of him to search through Steve's bedside table.

“Whatever, you're indestructible – ow! Hey!” This, with an indignant glare, when Steve pinched Bucky's side.

“So're you,” Steve pointed out, and dropped his hand to his cock, stroking slowly. “Sometime this year, Barnes?”

“Jesus, did you treat Peggy like this? No, of course not, she wouldn't put up with it. Unlike some suckers I could name,” Bucky muttered, digging through piles of he-didn't-even-know-what until he found a familiar bottle and rolled back over with a crow of delight.

“ _Finally_ ,” Steve sighed, and held his hand out. “C'mere. Kiss me.”

Bucky handed the tube over and did so, mouth sealing over Steve's, both their mouths dropping open just a little, soft kisses, tasting each other. Steve _loved_ being kissed. Loved it beyond anything else Bucky did (even the trick with the ropes), so he kept it up, hands roaming over broad shoulders, tracing out the lines of his lover.

He felt Steve's hand moving between them, plenty of lube, always, and Bucky held his legs together tight, tight, smiling against Steve's mouth when he felt his cock slide in between Bucky's thighs.

“Yes, oh yes,” Steve breathed, his kisses turning urgent, biting, and Bucky flexed thighs, gave Steve something to bury himself in. Held him close with the two of them face-to-face, arms locked around Steve's waist, encouraging him with deep kisses, then the lightest nips on his shoulders until Steve's hips found a rhythm and he rutted against Bucky. There was no other word for it, this abandon and desire and faster, faster, until Steve shuddered under Bucky's hands and came.

Steve was the quiet one, of the two of them, and the one who needed petting afterwards. Bucky was the one who gave kisses, who got a warm washcloth and wiped them both down and pulled up the quilt so that Steve was safe and warm.

And he crawled in under the quilt, wrapping arms and legs around Steve, because of _course_.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled, shifting so that his head rested on Bucky's shoulder, snuggling a little closer.

“Of course. D'you want water or anything, before you go to sleep?” Bucky asked solicitously. This was their time to be tender; short-lived, but sweet.

Steve shook his head, pressing a little closer. “Un-unh.”

“Shhh. I'm too damn tired to do anything other than sleep too, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed, closing his eyes and tucking his face against Steve's hair. “Mmmm. You're nice. Here. All warm and...nice.”

Steve gave a soft huff of a laugh. “Such poetry. You're nice too. Love squishing up with you.”

“I know, baby. Me too.” Bucky smiled, and fell asleep.


	3. Mourn your dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a break from the light-and-silly of this unviverse -- I had the idea of it awhile ago, and wound up writing it on Thursday. Which, in addition to being the day Terry Pratchett passed away, was the anniversary of a rather painful death in my extended family, so the story was really written in between me blubbing. Still, I rather hope I've managed something beautiful, and I promise the silliness and love and general adoration of Bucky will continue in the next chapter :)

“Okay, okay, no – remember--” Bucky paused so he could laugh until he was wheezing. “So remember that time...”

Again, he was overcome, and Steve cuffed him lightly around the head. “ _Probably_ , but we're not actually psychically connected, so a little help here?”

“Fuck you we totally are,” Bucky wheezed, then collected himself, and sipped his glass of whiskey. “Okay, _right_. _So_. Remember that time with Dum-Dum and the prostitute?”

“You're gonna have to narrow it down a little there,” Steve said dryly, sipping from his own glass. He put his feet up against the edge of the roof and tilted his chair back a little, drinking in the last few rays of sunlight, the summer sun setting the sky alight around them.

“Oh my _God_ , you remember! The prostitute? In Colmar?”

“Still gonna need you to narrow that down, Buck,” Steve said, somehow maintaining a straight face.

“The _redhead?”_ Bucky asked, and dissolved into giggles again.

“Oh, yeah! With the --” Steve snorted, and put his chair back down on the ground, for safety's sake. “The tinned fish and the –“

“Uh huh and then Dernier--”

“And then with the blonde and the letters of passage --”

“Sweet fancy Moses!” they yelled together, and Steve laughed so hard he half-slid out of his chair, which made Bucky laugh _harder_ until he was curling his arms around his belly.

“Stop stop stop,” he managed between giggles. “My – stomach – hurts--”

“Only got yourself to blame,” Steve said, rescuing Bucky's glass where it was about to tip over. “ _Breathe_ , dumbass.”

“You breathe, dumbass,” Bucky said immediately, and they grinned at each other.

“Hey, remember the time Dernier blew up a factory with just some plastique and two K-rations?” Steve said, and Bucky smiled.

“Yeah. Remember the time that Russian soldier, what was his name, Petrovich? kept trying to get Morita to teach him kanji?”

Steve's smile grew. “Oh man, that was great. I still don't know who I felt sorrier for.”

“Morita. Definitely Morita. He was fine faking it until he tried to keep up with the guy by downing shots of vodka.” Bucky sighed, and drained his glass, then refilled it. “Shit. I miss them.”

“Me too,” Steve said, and reached out, and they clinked glasses. “God, I miss them so much.”

“Oh no. No, no no. You aren't allowed to start,” Bucky said, shaking his head when he saw Steve blinking back tears.

“You're the one that's always nagging me to share my feelings!”

“Steve, everyone you know nags you about sharing your feelings,” Bucky pointed out. “And no. 'Cause if you start, _I'll_ start and just...Steve, I'm so tired of crying,” he said.

“Then I won't start,” Steve said, and blinked into the wind until he was okay. “I miss them so much, though. Died before I woke up, y'know.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. “Dunno how you did it, all by yourself. If I didn't have you...”

“I was pretty bad at it,” Steve admitted, and took a largish gulp of whiskey. Venus was just about visible in the sky now. “Getting by on my own, I mean.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said, and held up his hand at Steve's protest. “No, shut up. That's not being mean to myself or guilty or anything like that. It's...sympathy. I'm sorry you had to be in so much pain.” He paused and smiled, just a little. “This is where you say, 'Thank you, Bucky.'”

“Thank you, Bucky,” Steve parroted, and smiled, although he couldn't quite bring himself to make eye contact. “I found out where they're all buried, y'know. Never been but...I still got the list.”

“Maybe someday,” Bucky said.

“Yeah. Y'know they wanted to make a TV series following my around, where I visited all their graves?”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathed.

“Yeah. Thank God Ultron came along about then, y'know?” Steve said dryly.

“Steve, that is the cruelest idea I have ever heard. And I've watched every episode of _Toddlers and Tiaras_.”

“Yeah, but you've got no taste.” Steve smiled, but just on the left side of his mouth. “They wanted me to do some stuff for Memorial Day, too. So I did, the first year.”

“It's so long ago, for everyone now,” Bucky said, and he sounded young and lost. “Everyone then is dead or lived a life and they got so long to get used to it or ignore it or --” He stopped, and breathed, and took another swallow of his drink. “Stevie, when did we turn into old soldiers?”

“We're thirty-one, Buck. Where it counts.”

Bucky shook his head. “We're old soldiers, Steve. How many thirty-one-year-old's seen what happens when an incendiary drops on a school? How many of 'em know what a body torn apart by a bomb looks like?”

“Way too fuckin' many,” Steve muttered.

“Point. But you know what I'm getting at, right? We ain't that old, not really. But we are.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve said quietly. “I don't...after that first year, I asked to be on missions on Memorial Day. The farther away the better.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. “That sounds good. For next time.” He looked over at Steve. “You want company, for that goin' far away?”

“Jesus, Buck, like you gotta ask?”

Bucky smiled and reached out, squeezing Steve's hand for a moment, then letting it drop. “Let's rent a sailboat. Go sailing. Where nobody'll find us. Get one of the ones we can live on for a few days.”

Steve's laugh was cracked, and too young for who he was. “Do you even _know_ how to sail?”

Bucky pondered the question. “I...think so? Does the phrase 'Swallows and Amazons forever!' mean anything to you?”

“Um. No?”

Bucky shrugged. “So we'll learn.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and they drank in silence while the stars began to come out, what stars there were in the heavens above Brooklyn in the heat of summer.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss my Mom.”

“Oh, Buck.” Steve reached out and laced his fingers with Bucky's. “Oh, honey. I miss your Mom too.”

Bucky laughed, and started to cry. “Shit. Shit shit shit. I never got to go to her funeral. I'm her _son_ , I shoulda...”

“Shhh, shhh.” Steve tugged Bucky out of his chair and across the short distance between them, pulling him down into his lap and wrapping his arms tight around the young man who was crying for his mother. “You couldn't baby. She knows that. Wherever she is now, she knows that and she loves you so much. She was so proud of you, y'know?”

Bucky cried harder. “We were soldiers, we were _supposed_ to die in war, everything after – it's like a bonus, you know? Peggy and Dum Dum and Morita and everybody, they got to go home but my _Mom_ , Steve, I shoulda been there to say goodbye and carry her coffin and I _wasn't_.”

“Oh, honey,” Steve said hopelessly, and held Bucky until he was cried out.

“Stevie, I'm so tired,” Bucky said, his voice thick, and he sniffled wetly.

“Shhh. We just...we just gotta mourn sometimes. It's okay.” Steve laughed, and buried his face in Bucky's hair for a moment, breathing him in. “It's okay.”

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning,” Bucky quoted. “I miss your mom too,” he offered.

“Me too,” Steve said softly, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Bucky's head. “I miss your sister.”

“I miss my Dad.”

“I miss Billy McEvans. He taught me how to punch, even before you did.”

“He did a shitty job,” Bucky  said . “I miss Father Kosinski.”

“I miss Sister Maria Andretti. The old bat.”

They giggled together. “I miss Sister Marguerite Therese,” Bucky offered. “She was real pretty, remember?”

“Uh huh. I miss Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“I miss Mr. Higgins.”

“I miss Randy Joseph.”

They traded names back and forth; their litany of the dead, while the sky grew dark above them.

 

 


	4. Change How You Look

“Tony, time to add something else to Steve's interview topic blacklist,” Bucky called over his shoulder.

“Are you serious? He's got three times the rest of us. His list is longer than _yours_ ,” Tony commented, wandering over to watch the live feed of Steve's presser. And help himself to a handful of Bucky's popcorn.

“You've met Steve, right?” Bucky scooted over to make room. “Someone asked him if he still finds me attractive. Again.”

“Oooh, rewind and let me see. Did he turn interesting colors?”

“That's the thing,” Bucky explained. “He just sighed and refused to answer. We're not even getting _entertained_.”

Tony made a small, sad sound. “JARVIS, please update Rogers' interview blacklist.”

“Yes sir. Shall I add the same item to Sergeant Barnes'?”

“Not just yet, please,” Bucky said, still trying to figure out where to look as he spoke to thin air. “Sometimes I still get interesting variations.”

“I'm waiting for someone to ask about the arm, myself,” Tony admitted.

“Nah, they're still too scared of it,” Bucky said. “JARVIS? What's Steve's ETA?”

“Captain Rogers seems to be taking the subway. I estimate thirty minutes.”

Bucky heaved a sigh. “Right, half an hour to prepare.”

Tony snickered. “All right there grandpa...”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky said cheerfully. “I'm younger than you are, and I didn't mean it that way anyway, you dirty-minded asshole. Half the time Steve wants to spar after one of these interviews and half the time he...doesn't.”

“Fondue?” Tony asked, eyebrow raised.

“God, I wish. Nah. He wants. Um. Well, to cuddle,” Bucky said carefully. Which was a nice way of describing the remora-like state Steve sometimes entered. And it wasn't like Bucky _minded_. Just that Steve had apparently taken lessons from cats on how to aggressively cuddle. It was kind of impressive. At least, until one was the recipient when one really just wanted to sprawl on the sofa and watch _Farscape_.

“Awwwww. Also, ew. Hey, how's the adamantium stud working out?” Tony asked, tactfully changing the subject for what Bucky suspected was the first time in his life.

Bucky used his tongue to press his lower lip forward, showing off the labret piercing he'd recently managed to actually keep, despite the super-soldier healing. “Awesome. Thanks again.”

“No problem. I am happy to provide any body jewelry required above the waist,” Tony said solemnly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Stark.” No, but really, _thank you_ , not that he'd ever say the words, because he and Tony weren't like that. But God, he loved how it looked, and how it felt, how he could swap in a ring Tony had made. How he had changed; intentionally, mindfully, and taking only a few seconds to do so. (The first attempt had healed almost immediately but there was something about the adamantium – like his arm, his body had to heal around it.) He'd gone around on a high for a week, and chased Steve into their bedroom every chance he got.

He ate a bit more of his popcorn, just to lay claim to it, and surrendered the rest to Tony, going to get changed into loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, figuring that would be right for whatever mood Steve was in.

“You watch it?” Steve asked, stalking into their rooms exactly thirty minutes after Bucky had checked in with JARVIS.

“Uh huh. Dull,” Bucky said, and leaned in for a kiss. “How you doing?”

“Wanna fight?”

Bucky grinned, wolfish and happy, and started tying his hair back. “Always, baby.”

Steve grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him close for a kiss, this one longer and messier. “I love you.”

“I know,” Bucky said, resting his hands on Steve's shoulders. “I love you too.” He returned the kiss, just as sharp, a promise for later. “C'mon. I haven't had a really good workout yet today.”

Steve got changed in record time, and the two of them headed to the simplest of the gyms, fitted out with crash mats and hard walls; nothing to hide behind and nothing to use but Steve's shield.

Bucky went into ready stance facing Steve, who nodded, and then they were off. Steve started with his shield, but Bucky caught it early on and, by now, he could use it almost as skillfully as Steve. He preferred a different range of motions though, usually using it purely defensively or as a bludgeon, rather than Steve's carefully-calculated throws. Which were useful, and certainly rather pretty, but Bucky saw no reason to chance giving up a heavy hunk of metal when it was handed to him.

They spoke only when needed, and the game, such as it was, had no beginning or end – they were too well matched. Bucky had a slight advantage at grappling, Steve the advantage whenever he had a little space. The only concessions they made were that Steve didn't aim for his head when he threw the shield, and Bucky pulled his punches with his metal arm.

Everything narrowed to him, his opponent, his own body. Legs with vicious strength, kick out, opponent parries, get him with a knee in the side. Catch the shield, use it to parry blows until he lost it again, clever Steve getting it off his arm without noticing. He put Steve in an arm-bar, then found himself flat on his belly, wrestling out of a hold.

They chased each other around the gym for...what was it? An hour? Two? They both had bruised, puffy faces at the end of it, and Bucky rolled his right shoulder carefully – it had been a little bit more likely to dislocate, since the helicarrier.

“That all you got?” Steve asked, breathing hard. His black eye was already fading.

“Nope, and you know it,” Bucky shot back, and swiped the strands of hair that had escaped out of his face. God, it had felt good to fight, to glory in everything his body could do, to _push_ , stretch, punch, be within his own flesh so completely.

Steve laughed, and let his shield drop, their traditional end-of-sparring signal. “Shower?”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks. Good session.”

“Really good,” Steve agreed, and his smile when Bucky picked up the shield automatically was a sight to behold. If God was good, Bucky would never have to carry it outside of these sessions. But if he ever did – well. That was a thought for darker nights than this would be.

They showered together, more to save time than for any romantic reason, although Bucky insisted on washing Steve's back for him. And he laughed when Steve dried him off, scrubbing him down with a towel the size of a quilt, then wrapping it around Bucky's waist – and not missing the chance to wrap his own arms around Bucky and kiss him deeply.

“Mmm. Hey, you.” Bucky kissed him back, his own arms coming around Steve's shoulders. “Food first? Please?”

“Food first,” Steve agreed. “Otherwise we'll both be unbearable.”

“You're always unbearable,” Bucky said lazily, detouring into the bedroom to trade his towel for a pair of shorts. Because he was a classy guy like that. (Steve remained wearing only his towel, because he emphatically was not classy and God, it was good that Bucky had found him first because no one else in the world deserved to put up with _that_.)

They had leftover chicken and fixings for sandwiches, and together made a small pile they could share while sprawling on the largest sofa Bucky had ever seen in his life. Neither of them were exactly petite, but they could both fit on it with room to spare, and regularly did so.

Even Steve put off human contact until they had made a respectable dent in the pile of food, both their bodies craving the protein and calories more than usual between the sparring and the healing.

_Finally_ though, Bucky gave in and set the plate aside, lying back on the sofa and holding his arms open and, maybe four femtoseconds later, finding himself with a Steve Rogers blanket.

“Ooof. Jesus, you're like a pile of bricks,” he teased as Steve settled himself down. His head rested on Bucky's chest and one hand reached up to play with his hair, the other resting on Bucky's belly, rubbing softly.

“Pot, kettle, and so forth,” Steve argued, and Bucky certainly did not smile down at him, and it was definitely not a stupidly sappy smile.

“Better?” he asked softly, and Steve nodded. “Tony added to your blacklist, by the way.”

Steve grunted. “Good. He should add it to yours. Nobody's got the right to talk to you about how you look, for fuck's sake.”

“Better'n some things they could be asking me,” Bucky pointed out, and turned his head to kiss the palm of Steve's hand. “Anyway, you'll be left alone about it. They'll get bored soon. A fat superhero is only so fascinating, compared to whatever Tony will do next.”

“Yeah, I mean, it's not like you're an amazing athlete and ridiculously strong and flexible and also a better shot than probably anyone in the world,” Steve said, anger still clear in his voice. “And God forbid anyone believe me that I love you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “They'll get it. And fuck 'em if they don't.”

“You fuck 'em. I only want to fuck you.”

Bucky laughed, and tilted Steve's face up to kiss him. “Nah. One mouthy asshole is enough for me.”

Steve grinned, and kissed him again. “I really love the piercing, by the way. Glad this one took.”

Bucky rubbed the tip of his tongue over the inside of the stud. “Me too.” He stole one more kiss, light and sweet this time. “Might do my eyebrow next.”

“Nice,” Steve approved, and pushed himself up to kiss above first one eye, then the other. “Hey, your shoulder okay?”

“ _Yes_ , Ma,” Bucky said, and gave an exaggerated shrug to prove it. “I'm fine,” he added in a softer voice. “You know I am.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbled, and tucked himself close again, curling up but for one hand reaching out to interlace his fingers with Bucky's, metal kissing warm skin. Bucky had taken a picture of them holding hands once – his left, Steve's right – and made it his phone's wallpaper and even Steve didn't make fun of him for it. Not much, anyway.

“Hey Stevie?” Bucky asked softly, after some time. “Can I ask you something?”

“O' course Buck,” Steve mumbled, half-asleep. He tended to drift off when they lay together, claiming that Bucky's shoulder made a better pillow than most he had known.

“I know you're all over me no matter what, not that I can blame you, but you're _all over me_ since I gained weight.  Not that I'm complaining, but...why?”

Steve was quiet for a long while, then shifted to push himself up so he could look Bucky in the eye. His face was serious, eyes intense.

“Because you look right,” Steve said. “And you look...I don't know, it's hard to explain it. Remember when you first came home?”

“Broadly,” Bucky said dryly. A long bout of pneumonia combined with detoxing from decades of whatever Hydra had pumped into him had left those first months something of a fuzz.

“You were so thin and sick,” Steve said, whispering now, the way he did when the words were too true to say in a normal way. The first time he'd said 'I love you' to Bucky, he'd barely been audible. “Like you'd break if I touched you, if I came _near_ you. I was so afraid I'd hurt you, and you were hurting so much as it was.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky soothed, stroking the back of Steve's head. “I pulled through okay.”

Steve nodded, burying his face in Bucky's chest for a moment. “Then you started to get better, and you were so strong in every way, and when you put on all the muscle and weight you did it was like...you were  _there_ , in a way you hadn't  been  before. You've got weight and strength and I'm not afraid you'll break in two or disappear or...”  Steve took a deep breath. “You're healthy, you've got enough to eat, you destroy me half the time when we spar, and you can change how you look whenever you want. It means you're real, and you're not...you're not gonna go away again.” He looked up, bright red. “It's dumb, I know. But I sleep best when you're half on me, even if you  _do_ practically crush me, because I know you're  _there_ . And that's why I like how you look now so much. It means you're home.  And it means you're solid and strong and...and you won. You won, baby. ”

Bucky swallowed hard and touched his fingertips to Steve's face. “Jesus.”

Steve shrugged, and dropped a kiss on the underside of Bucky's chin, soft and rounded now. “That's why I get so pissed off  when people bring it up . They want you look like you did when you were half-dead and I was terrified to even hug you. And that's so fucked up, I can't even...”

“I...don't know what to say,” Bucky admitted. “Thank you. I love you. I'm never leaving you again. You're stuck with me.” He smiled, and kissed Steve softly. “I'll be crushing you in bed when we're both ninety for real.”

“Damn well better be,” Steve said, and tucked his head under Bucky's chin again. “Ugh. I'm tired of being angry. Can we just watch something dumb, have a round of amazing sex, and then go to bed?”

Bucky laughed out loud, and promised him just that. And they did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a good ending point, but I promise I am in no way done with this 'verse. This is my happy place :) 
> 
> Comments and kudos make my world go 'round. And if you happen to have come here via a rec, could you please let me know? Thanks!
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr! [dietraumerei.tumblr.com](dietraumerei.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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